Axes Grind and Bows Pierce My Heart
by CaliforniaTexasNorthCarolina
Summary: A baker's son who goes from rags to riches. A poor Seam girl who has earned his love. A Victor from a neighboring district whom he is strangely drawn to. All three thrown together by the malice of the arena. From the author of A Victor's Existence comes a new romance surrounding the classic Hunger Games story.
1. Chapter 1: 74th Reaping

**Chapter 1: 74th Reaping**

I despise Reaping Day. Everything about it - right down to the very clothes I have to wear. The thought makes me claw at the collar of my shirt all the more vigorously, the collar that sticks out from all the powder in it and makes me look like a peacock. The boxing I get around my ears from Mom is worth the chance to scratch that itch, even as I am made to look like a fool whilst signing in with the Peacekeepers. A pinprick of blood, and I'm herded in with the other 16-year-old boys like a pig in a pen. As I'm jostled, shuffled into place, I keep my eyes out for it - a faded blue dress. Piercing, Seam-gray eyes. And that single, simple braid running down her back...

I suppose I should explain just what it is I'm doing here, on this blistering hot day in June in the sun with no shade, and appallingly not dressed for the elements that season brings. Today is Reaping Day for the 74th Annual Hunger Games - a yearly competition in which the 12 Districts of Panem send one boy and one girl between the ages of 12 and 18 into an outdoor arena to fight to the death. The last tribute standing wins, and becomes a Victor to mentor future tributes for the rest of his/her days.

That's the part we're coming to now The summary I've just given you nicely sums up the Dark Days - the rebellion of the districts which demanded the Games' creation. Now, Mayor Undersee is reading out the names of Past Hunger Games Victors. For my homeland, District 12, we have had exactly two. Two. Total. In 73 years.

"The Victor of the 16th Annual Hunger Games... Cassiope Fletch!" A grandmotherly woman stands and waves to the crowd, though only a few applaud her. I've heard many a story about our first Victor. They say Cassiope was weeks old when she watched from her cradle as the bombs fell on District 12. The bombs that ended the Rebellion. They also say she's half-crazy; has been that way for years.

"The Victor of the 50th Annual Hunger Games, or Second Quarter Quell: Haymitch Abernathy!" Never mind that he went in against a field worth two arenas. Never mind that it is rumored of how he killed at least 4 Careers personally. Our most recent Victor, from nearly twenty-five years ago, is viewed as a clown, as evidenced by the laughs his name elicits. As futher evidenced by how, with a glass of whiskey in hand, he merrily stands to wave... and plummets head-first off the stage, landing in a muddy ditch. Haymitch Abernathy. A paunchy, middle-aged drunk. Scarcely 40 years old. It's a miracle the alcohol poisoning hasn't gotten him yet.

Cassiope now leaps off the stage and tries to get Haymitch out of the spotlight - nearly impossible, as all of District 12's eyes and all of Panem's are on him. "Get up!" She hauls him into something between a body drag and a fireman's lift, as she impressively moves him back to his seat. For a little old lady, she sure is strong.

Effie Trinket, our district's escort from the Capitol, now takes the microphone, looking relieved, embarrassed and miffed all at once. I wonder if she's displeased at being upstaged. Probably - folks from the Capitol like to have all the attention. "Welcome, welcome! Today, we select one young man and woman for the honor of representing District 12 in the 74th Annual Hunger Games! As always, ladies first!"

After the performance we've just witnessed, I wouldn't want to represent District 12 in much of anything. But that doesn't stop Effie from pulling from the Girls' Reaping Bowl as though she is selecting a recipe.

"Parsley Fairchild!"

I barely have time to think about how the name isn't _hers_ , before I move on to other musings. Ah, Fairchild. The largest family in all the Merchant sector, if not all of District 12. There's big money there, and many in the brood; my brother Rye's girlfriend, Julie, is a Fairchild. No doubt it will be her maiden name; they'll be married in a few years. In fact, Fairchild is probably what originated the features of all Merchants: porcelain skin, blond hair and blue eyes. Very Aryan. I'm almost certain that my mother approves of the match, which only makes me feel less hopeful; if she knew my choice of a bride, it would send Mom screaming for the hills.

My thoughts are suddenly interrupted by Effie announcing the male tribute:

"Peeta Mellark!"

I take the stage in a fog, staring around at the stage and Cassiope and Haymitch and Effie and Parsley as if still wondering where I am.

But I know where I am. And worse, what it means. It means I'll never get to talk to the girl of my dreams. I'll never get to be friends with her. I'll never get to one day just grab her and kiss her and ask her to marry me. Never have the possibility that she'd say Yes. Never get to moan and sweat as we make love in bed, then see her stomach laden with the beautiful Mellark babies we'd raise.

I've already shaken Parsley's hand, though I'd be forgiven for not remembering. I'm already in the Justice Building.

* * *

I am locked in an ornate, private room. I don't have time to take in the design or anything else about it, before a Peacekeeper is opening the door again and saying, "You have five minutes." My family is ushered in, including Julie Fairchild. I don't know of what relation she is to Parsley, but shouldn't my sister-in-law-to-be visit her instead? Still, she pecks my cheek in farewell. I go to embrace my father.

"Do you think she'll visit? Katniss," I whisper in his ear, saying her name like a prayer. For it is Katniss Everdeen, the poor Seam daughter of a coal miner, who I love. Dad's the only one who knows this, my greatest secret.

I sense Dad frown. "I didn't see her behind me," he says gently. "In fact, I saw her leaving with her family as we were getting in line. Although... she was having quite the argument with her mother as they were exiting. Almost as if she wanted to stay. And I saw her face as you were Reaped. She looked... concerned."

I idolize my father, and I appreciate what he is trying to do. But I don't suffer kindness in place of truth. I wouldn't be surprised if Katniss even knew who I was. Why would she care if I died? I communicate all this to Dad when I chide him, "Don't read too much into things."

"And don't start posing for your coffin now," my oldest brother, Leven, admonishes me. Rye lets out a bark of laughter at the morbid joke. "The Victor's gonna be you."

My mother now steps in. "Here, here, what's all this jabberwocky when there's work to be done? I know three shiftless bakers who'll be out of a job before they know it."

I note painfully how she said three and not four; she already knows I'm as good as dead! Dad fails to suppress an eye roll.

"Paula, say goodbye to your son," he orders.

"We'll miss you at the wedding," is all Mom says to me. Julie bites her lip nervously, displeased at having been dragged into this when my brother hasn't even officially proposed yet.

The guards take my family away, and soon after, return to escort me to the train. I was hoping that at least some of my school friends would come, if not Katniss. But I guess they must think I'm as good as dead, too.

I get on the train and in one moment, I am being removed from my home and my life. Probably forever.

* * *

Dinner that night is a quiet affair. Haymitch drinks until the liquor runs out, and Cassiope lets him. Effie does too, but makes her disapproval quite clear. At last, Parsley breaks the silence.

"So how do we win? How do we survive?"

I wonder if this would be a good time to mention to Parsley that she and I are related, or at least soon will be, by marriage. But I refrain for two reasons: one, because thanks to the Fairchilds, all Merchants are related, one way or another. And two, these are the Hunger Games. Family ties have no meaning in a fight to the death, and are even meant to be broken; I've seen the arena destroy ties a lot closer than the ones Parsley and I share.

Cassiope, meanwhile, smiles tightly, even as her voice is deadly serious. "Those," she tells us, "are two very different things. We can help you survive the Games, but no one ever wins. Not really. So that's Rule #1: Assume you don't win. Even if you survive."

Well, that doesn't make any sense. The Victor always is made to feel like a winner, at least on TV. He or she is given a crown and everything. Sounds like winning to me!

"Also," Haymitch adds quite earnestly, which makes both Parsley and I jump. I thought drinking was supposed to impair you. "You need to do exactly what we say. Cass and I are the ones who know the score. You do what we say. No questions asked. Then, maybe, one of you will get out alive. Got it?"

We nod. And Cassiope and Haymitch begin their mentoring. Unfortunately, that means I'm stuck with the drunk, as Victors - when possible - mentor their tributes based on gender. So I suppose that, if nothing else, this is how Cassiope and Haymitch are good for something, especially Haymitch. One District 12 Victor of each gender.

* * *

It comes as a shock to me that the media would care to film District 12 at all. Yet, we are mobbed the moment we step off the train, as if we had this thing already in the bag. As if we were a Career district. Those are Districts 1 and 2 that illegally train their tributes in special academies, then send them in at age 18. They win the thing almost every year. But Haymitch tells me all Careers have one fatal flaw. "Arrogance. And arrogance can lead to tributes - even Careers - doing very stupid things." Maybe that explains how the old geezer managed to take out four of them in his Games alone.

We start by meeting our stylists, who will beautify us and make us pretty for the Capitol up until the arena. Being a 13-year-old girl, Parsley is ecstatic at the chance to use make-up. I, on the other hand, am appalled. But then I remember Haymitch making us promise to do exactly what he and Cassiope said, so I bite my tongue.

That night, our beautified selves are paraded through the City Circle in chariots. A parade, of sorts. As Parsley and I go along in fiery accents (an idea from my stylist, Cinna), we notice how the Capitolites shriek and wave to us. We have gotten attention - attention probably not normal for an outlier district like us, and with the biggest losing streak of all. Still, Cassiope and Haymitch both seem pleased with our performance.

Training begins the very next morning, at the bottom floor of the Tribute Training Center; we'll be staying there over the next four days. I spend my time learning skills I don't know, per Haymitch's advice, and avoiding the ones I do know - like wrestling. Meanwhile, I get a good look at my competition. The girl from 1, Glimmer, is sexy and a bit of a flirt, but she mostly has eyes for the boy from 2, whose name is Cato. He looks like he could rip an entire person in half. The girl from 5, who I nickname Foxface after I'm unable to catch her real name, is sly and elusive. The dark-skinned boy from 11, Thresh, looks to be Cato's biggest threat to the crown. I approve of his refusal of the Careers' offer to join their crowd. I take no notice of Thresh's district partner, Rue, at first. At least not until I see her almost fly through the roped rafters like a bird on the wing.

The winner of these Games will be one of those five. Maybe add in Clove, the girl from 2, who is a master at throwing knives. One of them will win. Surely not little Parsley. And certainly not me.

At the end of the three days, we each have our private session with the Gamemakers. They control the arena and all its natural elements. Being the boy from District 12, I am slated to go dead-last. Here is where I show of my wrestling with an on-hand trainer. And also my camouflage. Might as well make all those years frosting cakes down at the bakery count for something.

I must have impressed the Gamemakers more than I imagined, for the broadcast that night gives me an 8 in Training. Parsley is right behind me at a 7, an excellent score for one so small. Both Cassiope and Haymitch seem pleased with our efforts.

* * *

The fourth and final day is spent preparing for our interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Haymitch coaches me. This is really the first time that he and I have been alone together. Apparently, a tribute can choose to be coached separately for the entire training process. But my mentors never asked. Haymitch says that Cassiope didn't have that luxury of giving her tributes a choice for decades. I don't mind. I've never considered Parsley threat enough that I would feel the need to hide anything from her via a separate coaching session.

Haymitch and I go for an uncontroversial angle: likable. He says I have a naturally self-deprecating sense of humor; it's probably the closest thing I'll ever get to a compliment out of him.

The interviews that night go by pretty quickly. Each tribute gets three minute in the spotlight - a rule that is strictly enforced by a buzzer. Glimmer plays the sexy angle. Cato is arrogant as hell; he seems to expect the Victor's Crown. Thresh gives little beyond one-word answers, and both Rue and Parsley draw the sympathetic sighs of mothers.

At last, it is my turn. Upon appearing beside Caesar Flickerman, I hear roars and applause, particularly shrieking from the women. It makes me wonder if Katniss is watching me from back home. Does she regret never speaking to me? Would she be attracted to me if I didn't have these duds on? Or would she be like these shallow women and only like me when I'm beautiful. These women who now shriek, even sob my name, aren't Katniss. And it disgusts me that they are not.

"My, my, Peeta! You're the most strapping young lad to come out of Twelve in years! Tell me: how do you like the Capitol?"

"You have interesting showers," I announce with a chuckle. "Say, Caesar: do I smell like roses? Take a whiff," I encourage when he seems thrown by the question. Pretty soon, the host and I are chatting as if we've known each other for years. At last, Caesar grows serious.

"Now, Peeta, tell me: is there a special girl back home?"

"Nah, no, there isn't," I laugh.

"I don't believe him for a second! Look at that face! Handsome lad like you, there must be some special girl! Come on, what's her name? Peeta: tell me."

"Well, there is this one girl that... I've had a crush on forever. But I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the Reaping."

The Capitolites moan. Unrequited love they can relate to.

"So win this thing, and when you get home, she'll have to go out with you. Right, folks?"

"We'll see, Caesar," I smile grimly.

"And we wish you... all the best of luck," Caesar shakes my hand as time expires. "Peeta Mellark!"

The nightmares come hard that night, and only the entrancing spirit of Katniss drives them somewhat away.


	2. Chapter 2: Hunt You Down Like a Duck

**Chapter 2: Hunt You Down Like a Duck**

I emerge from my room the next morning bleary-eyed. Someone - I think it is Haymitch - passes me some bagels for breakfast, which I accept almost in a fog. Then, I follow the back of the nearest person in our entourage as we climb the stairs to the roof where the hovercraft awaits. There, I say goodbye to Effie, Cassiope and Haymitch. Parsley and I get onboard. I am forced into a seat and the tracker is placed in my arm. Wouldn't want to lose a tribute. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cato several seats down. Leaning forward, shoulders hunched. He turns away almost scoffingly. It's not as though he doesn't want to be here; Careers like him consider fighting in the Hunger Games a thrill. No, he seems bummed as to why this is even necessary. Arrogant to the very end. I don't know if I'll even ever see him again once in the arena, but if I do, I hope it's not at the other end of his sword.

Once we arrive at the arena, my fellow tributes and I are herded underground like sheep. I meet my stylist in a sterile room. At least, it feels sterile, with all the metal walls. My stylist dresses me in my arena jumpsuit. It feels... thin somehow, like paper. Something akin to a windbreaker, except all over my body. I wonder if I should be prepared for cool nights.

With a quick thank you to my stylist, I step into the pod at 10 seconds to launch. Moments later, I am being pushed up into the arena.

When I first get a look at it, all I can think is, _Wow_.

The entire arena is a forest of thick trees, broken only by the circular Meadow housing The Cornucopia at its center. The horn is about twenty yards ahead of me. And at about seven yards ahead of me, I spot a pile of supplies. I can reach it, if I sprint. My eyes hone in on it.

As I wait for the countdown to finish, I find myself wishing that Katniss was here. She would be in her element in this kind of place. Hell, she could win! Shooting her bow, climbing trees in that cute way that accentuates her lovely, curvy ass... No, focus. All the same, I wonder if she is watching me. Or just watching to see how I die. The Games never seemed to impress her much. I would watch her watching the Jumbotron in the square. Or, more accurately, watching only for the gory parts so she could cover her little sister's eyes, always a few seconds too late. I just hope that, either way, I can die like a man. For Katniss's sake. I send up a final prayer. _Katniss, I love you_.

The gong sounds, and I am the first one to reach my chosen pile of supplies, just as I hoped. I waste no time in shrugging the backpack over my shoulders, and seizing the spear next to it. I mastered the weapon in training. The other weapon's origins I am less sure about: it looks like a saw with its serrated blade, but feels like a large razor when I hold it in my hand. Dubbing it a razor saw, I decide to take it along. With a weapon in each hand, none of the other rapidly approaching tributes bother me as I run for the woods and safety.

Before, I had only ever known trees based on the ones near the edge of the District 12 fence that I would sketch. Sometimes, I would see Katniss climb one of these trees in view of my window, using her long, beautiful thighs to haul herself up into the branches. So I try not to think of the unfamiliarity I feel as I move amongst the trees. Katniss would want me to be brave. If she can do it, so can I.

As I put more and more distance between myself and the Bloodbath, I hear periodic cannons booming throughout the day. I encounter no one else, instead spending my time going through my backpack. There's a few dry food condiments - bread and cheese - and an empty canteen. I will need water soon, but for right now, I use my weapons to hunt. I actually catch a rabbit.

As evening sets in, I decide to nest myself in a tree for the night. Thinking back to how I would watch Katniss climb, I manage to scale a large one and lash myself to a branch by using the sleeves of my windbreaker. I am just settling down to sleep when -

I hear a scream. And one that is close by, too. A cannon follows, then a chorus of laughter. Oh no. The Careers are on the hunt! It has to be them.

The sun finally sets, calling off the death toll for the first day. The Panem anthem plays and the faces of the dead tributes appear in the sky:

The girl from 3. Both from 4. The boy from 5. Both from 6, 7, 8 and 9. The girl from 10. And... Parsley. That's it.

I burrow against my trunk sadly. Fourteen dead. That's actually a tick up above normal. Most Games, the average death toll for Day 1 is eleven, twelve, thirteen tributes. Roughly half. The Capitol must be pleased with all the bloodshed. So would the mentors, if for no other reason than a field of ten is much more manageable than a field of 24. I wonder if so many deaths means the field this year is weak. It depends on how you look at it, for everyone who I predicted would become a contender for Victor still is. Plus a few others, like Bad Leg District 10. And the boy from 3. But they'll go quickly as the last of the dead wood. Then the Final Eight will be set and the real fun can begin.

My thoughts now drift to Parsley. I realize that I never said goodbye to her on the roof! Did I really think I was going to see her again, on the inside? She was never going to make it; she was too young! No one under the age of 15 has ever won the Games. Except once, and that was almost a decade ago.

These thoughts haunt me as I enter my first restless sleep of the arena.

* * *

The explosion both jolts me from my slumber and knocks me clear out of my tree. I have just enough time to get my bearings and snatch up my supplies before another fireball rains down.

This is a Gamemaker trap, no question. I dodge and weave and leap through the trees, many of which are already ablaze.

At last, one of the fireballs gets me, searing my thigh. I am forced to go at a limp and take cover under a rocky outcropping. The wound looks bad. If left untreated, I could definitely die. From blood poisoning. Or worse.

Suddenly, I hear a whoop. The Careers are across the river near where I have taken shelter. Getting to my feet, I hobble quickly away, desperately looking for some way to invade them. Seeing a particularly imposing pine, I climb. I get about fifteen feet up before I see all three of them, circling the base of the trunk like wolves.

I've been treed. What an idiot I am.

Wait... three of them? Where is Glimmer? Maybe the fireballs got her. But then I surely would have heard a cannon. I decide to play with the others for a bit. Best not to act afraid.

"How are you? Holding up OK?" A silly question, since with seared clothes of their own, all three, even Cato, look worse for wear. The boy from 1, Marvel, seems thrown by my inquiry.

"Well enough, Twelve. Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste." I'm sure the Capitol will get a kick out of that.

But Marvel doesn't take kindly to it at all. "You better watch out, Twelve. You try anything funny, I'll find you and hunt you down like a duck."

There's an old saying in District 12: "as retarded as a Republican." In the early days of Panem, it was used by Merchants as a pejorative for the unrefined intellect of the Seam folk. Now, it is used for anyone who acts like a fool; Haymitch has been described with this saying a lot - sometimes deservingly, sometimes not. I only know that retarded is a crass synonym for really, really dumb. And I don't even know what a Republican is. But I know one thing: Marvel isn't winning any awards for critical thinking skills. Or even basic thinking skills. Indeed, Cato now wears an expression that reads, _I really have to let_ _this_ _kid be in my group?_ , as he corrects, " _Dog_ , Marvel. It's hunt you down like a _dog_." As for me, I'm not exactly a prude, so to say. But I don't suffer fools. And it's not my job to make Marvel mentally get with the program. You don't win the Hunger Games by acting like a dumbass. In this environment, you willfully act like a dumbass, and you're dead.

Seeing that I'm not coming down, and that neither Cato, Clove nor Marvel can successfully climb up after me, the Careers elect to wait me out until the morning. My suspicions about Marvel's IQ, or should I say lack of it, are further proven when he is given guard duty... and falls asleep like the others.

So none of them hear it when a tinkling chime signals a parachute floating into my tree. A gift from a sponsor! I eagerly open the clasp to find some much needed ointment for the burn on my thigh. And also a note from Haymitch: _Nice job fucking with those Careers. Keep it up, boy! P.S. Your dad says some girl is worried about you._

Well, this is news. Haymitch has spoken with my father? How? And when? Does he know that Katniss Everdeen is the object of my affections? Doubtful, if he only refers to her in a note as _'some girl.'_ And even if he did talk with my father, Dad would not give away my secret to anybody. Not even the man trying to save the life of his own son. And anyway, how do I know it's Katniss? It could be any girl, for all I know.

Still, the thought that it might be Katniss who is... concerned for me fills me with a renewed vigor I never knew I had. Having all but given up, I now begin to search my tree, trying to find a way out.

And I find one. Thanks to the prodding of a little black girl in the next tree over. Rue. She points out a nest of tracker jackers - insects with nasty stings - along the branch of my pine. And then she's gone, like a ghost.

I crawl along the branch, staying far enough from the nest to be safe. I look at my razor saw. It actually intersects at a right angle for a curve, so if I... place it along the branch... just so...

I begin to saw from two places at once, making the chopping of the branch go by in half the time. It is still the wee hours of the next morning when I get to finishing. The Careers are beginning to stir as...

CRACK! The branch, the nest, fall away from the tree, landing right on the Career camp. The trio is awoken rudely. Realizing the danger of the stings, District 2 makes a beeline for a lake just off to one side of the Cornucopia. Marvel isn't so lucky, and succumbs to the tracker jackers.

In the confusion, I leap from the tree and crash into the underbrush, escaping like a scared racoon. But some of the insects are beginning to sting me. On the arms. On the neck. I begin to hallucinate. I see Caesar Flickerman, strolling blithely through the trees. I see Katniss, reaching to embrace me, to kiss me...

I fall to the leaves, and everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3: Blowing Up the Supplies

**Chapter 3: Blow Up the Supplies**

The BOOM of a cannon wakes me up. What rude awakenings the arena has! Fireballs, cannons, insects - what's next?

With the death of a new tribute, I wheel back through what I remember. That death... before that Marvel's... even if I didn't hear a cannon, there's no way Glimmer isn't dead. No Career would willfully go off on their own. At least, not when the rest of their pack was still alive. That means...

We've reached the Final Eight. Bypassed it, even. Seven tributes left. No District 12 tribute has gotten past this milestone in many years. I've more than proven myself, and done my District proud. Maybe I should just hobble away with my roasted thigh, and buy a lottery ticket to commemorate what has probably been the luckiest streak in anyone's life.

But then I remember Katniss, and how only six people remain in my way of seeing her again. Which begs the question: what day is it? How long was I out? And how did I get here, with pasted leaves all over my body, new ointment on my healing burn, and well hidden? I never will find out the answer, but I suspect that it was Rue.

It's a miracle a more hostile tribute didn't come across me in my unconscious state. And amazingly, my supplies survived my tussle with the Careers intact. I spend the better part of that day recovering by hunting for game.

The next day, I decide to go spying on the Careers. I return to the Cornucopia.

What I find there is different than what I had presumed. First of all, Cato and Clove are now joined by the boy from District 3. Cato probably had to make up ground in support, having now lost his goofy sidekick (Marvel) and free sex (Glimmer). But what could the District 3 boy have bartered for his life with? He's small - only Parsley's age. No skills that I'm aware of.

Well, whatever those skills are, they must be valuable, if the Careers are willing to leave a scrawny kid with a spear as a guard, while they go investigate a fire in the hills across the Meadow.

Hidden in the trees, I study the scene curiously. A guard not worth a lick, all alone. The supplies, organized into one big pile. And mounds of dirt all around the hoard, almost as if something's been dug up...

Then suddenly, I hear a rustle in the trees a few feet to the right of where I've been hidden. The girl from 5, Foxface, emerges and approaches the pile directly opposite where the boy from 3 stands guard, so that the pile itself conceals her. Then, she begins to hop around it, avoiding the mounds of dirt.

I watch in mild fascination. Whatever this girl is doing, it's likely that she's done it before, as the hopping path she takes to the supplies begins to feel like a pattern, an interpretive dance. One that she completes perfectly in reverse after swiping one backpack before disappearing into the trees.

District 3 has no idea she was even there. Some guard.

I wheel back through all the evidence, plus the display Foxface has shown me. It all falls into my place like a puzzle in my head.

"The whole damn thing is mined," I breathe. I think this is what happened: Cato and Clove came across District 3 and were likely ready to kill him, but he saved his own skin by promising to dig up the bombs under the tribute pedestals and transplant them around the stash. With firepower like that, the Careers are flat equipped. They don't even need District 3. Not anymore.

That gives me an idea. Thinking quickly, I ready my spear. Ideally, I would prefer a javelin, for its longer shaft, or have Katniss and her bow with me. But this will have to do. I take deadly aim at a a bag of apples hanging off the supply pile. I hurl the spear with all my strength. The tip tears through the bag, letting the apples tumble out, and -

KABOOM! The explosion hurls me backward into the trees, dazing me for just a moment. But when I come to, what was once supplies is now a blackened pile of ash. And the corpse of the boy from 3 is lying on the other side of the razed pile.

 _Get out of there_ , my brain is telling me. _Get out of there!_ I turn tail and run, but not before I catch a glimpse of Cato sprinting across the Meadow, tearing out his hair and gnashing his teeth. I pray he doesn't see me.

But he'll suspect. About who's responsible. And there's not many possible culprits left. The boy from 3 wouldn't commit suicide (at least not willingly), Clove was with Cato, and Rue's too small to do what I did and live to tell about it. He might blame Thresh, but I haven't seen the black boy since before the Games. That leaves...

I hope Cato goes after Foxface. I hope he doesn't come for me. My Training score was mediocre, but I don't remember what Foxface got.

Yet Cato will want revenge on somebody. And that means somebody's paying in blood.

I hope it isn't mine. I hope it isn't me.


	4. Chapter 4: The Feast

**Chapter 4: The Feast**

I dig my razor saw into the trunk of the tree. I have to keep the blade from getting dull and rusted, so making dents and slices in the bark is good practice. Besides, I need it to be sharp for later.

Six tributes left. It's been a few days since I blew up the supplies, and I know the Capitolites will be thirsty for blood. The Gamemakers will drive us together in some way. Honestly, the pool of final contenders was pretty much what I predicted, provided you swap out Glimmer for Clove. I feel lucky to be part of such an elite group.

I wonder how the Gamemakers will do it. Drive us together. Mutts, maybe? I keep waiting for some monster to jump out at me.

What jumps at me instead is the voice of Claudius Templesmith: "Attention, tributes, attention: commencing at sunrise, there will be a Feast tomorrow at The Cornucopia. Each of you needs something - desperately. And we plan to be... generous hosts."

Of course. A Feast. It's a common way to smoke tributes out, especially close to the end with so few left. I wonder if I should go. District 2 will definitely be there; I can't take on both Cato and Clove and expect to come out alive. And if the elusive Thresh suddenly decides to show up, I'll be a sitting duck.

Besides, what would I desperately need? A new spear, perhaps; I lost my old one blowing up the Career supplies. But the razor saw works just as nicely. I've been hunting successfully for food.

I decide to go, but hide just inside the treelike to see who lives and who dies. Then, if I have to dive in myself, I will.

* * *

The sky is in those late gray stages when I arrive at the treeline bordering the Meadow. The horn looks conspicuously empty, especially without any supplies in or around it.

At what must be sunrise, there is a rumble that sounds like an earthquake, as a wooden table rises up out of the ground. Atop it sit four backpacks, each bearing a number: 2, 5, 11, and 12. They must stand for the handful of districts who still have a stake in these Games. And four of the six tributes are still in intact district pairs. I am just deciding to run out to the table and snatch up my backpack when -

Someone else gets there first! Foxface! She literally runs out of the horn, seizes her pack and takes off running. She must have been hiding in the Cornucopia for hours, which only makes me wonder how District 2 could have missed her. Clever. Being the only other tribute besides her whose district partner is dead, I realize I have to be next to grab my pack, and quick. Otherwise, either of the pairs could take my pack, too.

But I am just bursting out of the treeline only to find that I am too late again. A little girl rises from her stomach where she has been lying flat in the tall Meadow grass, just feet from the table. The tributes are hiding all over the place! But unlike Foxface, Rue isn't so lucky.

Clove comes out of nowhere just as Rue gets a hand around her backpack. The District 2 girl flings a knife that slices across Rue's abdomen, stumbling her backward into the grass. Clove promptly jumps on Rue. She isn't much bigger than the little black girl, so if she can keep Rue down close to the ground...

"Think you're funny, huh? Sending us on a wild goose chase with those fires?"

I can't believe it. Rue set the fires? The ones that lured the Careers away from their camp. With how smart she is, she probably set them in the slight hope that someone else could then destroy the camp.

Rue doesn't know that her gamble worked better than she could have ever imagined. And now she's being blamed for what I did. That is hardly fair.

Clove is now stabbing Rue in the stomach again and again; the smaller girl is powerless to stop her. All of a sudden, I think of Prim, Katniss's little sister, and how her death would be as unjust as any little girl's. The thought fills me with a horrible rage and I charge forward. Even through the tall Meadow grass, Rue sees me coming; her eyes fill with a silent terror just as the life expires from them.

But Clove doesn't see me. "What the hell are you looking at -?"

She glances up too late. I tackle her to the ground, and have brought the razor saw down on her skull three times before she even starts to fight back. But Clove is no match for my weight, and each whack of the razor saw draws more blood and makes her weaker. She dies quickly.

BOOM. BOOM.

Panting, I seize my own backpack. I debate taking the 11 backpack from Rue's body, or stealing 2's, but decide against it. For I now see Cato lumbering across the field toward his fallen comrade. And he looks mad. We stare each other down for a moment.

My eyes filled with fear, I turn tail and run, flinging the pack over my shoulder.

Four tributes left... Four tributes left...

* * *

I spend the rest of that day and next walking off my tussle with Clove at the Feast. I escaped with only a few claw marks and bruises, and one tiny gash mark from one of Clove's knives. I heal this using the last of the burn ointment. In the backpack, I find just what I predicted: a new spear.

I begin to hunt again, and also forage for nuts and berries. I find a particular species that looks appealing, which I surreptitiously set aside for my dinner that night. As evening begins to fall, I hear a cannon. BOOM. Someone has died.

Running back to my crude camp, I notice the pile of berries I had gathered looks smaller than when I left it - just small enough to be noticeable, but only if you study it closely enough.

Someone has stolen my berries.

A weapon in each hand, I begin to patrol a perimeter around my camp. It doesn't take me long before I discover her, with berry juice stains across her mouth.

I sigh sadly. Once again, Foxface has warned me of the arena's dangers. Only this time, she paid for it with her life. She must have been following me, looking for something to steal. She just stole the wrong thing. The thought makes me wonder: would she have tried to kill me, if I had given her the opportunity? No. She wouldn't have had it in her. I know that Foxface is a flighter, not a fighter, and her only remaining competition was three boys - all of whom are a lot bigger than her. And I'm the smallest of our trio who now lives.

Even so, Foxface's death now gives the Gamemakers the fight that, all along, they have probably wanted. Cato and Thresh and me.


	5. Chapter 5: The Finale

**Chapter 5: The Finale**

Over the course of a few more days, I hunt and gather. But I only eat the game, having learned my lesson with Foxface and the poisonous berries. No other tributes bother me. No Gamemaker traps. All that while, I rack my brain for a way that I can beat Thresh and Cato.

The one possible scenario hinges on an uncontrollable factor: Thresh not showing up. I haven't seen him since training, and it's a large arena; he could be anywhere. And I don't even know if he came to the Feast - if he did, he would have arrived to retrieve the backpack that both Rue and I left, long after I was gone.

I wonder if Thresh is an evader, like Foxface was. He certaintly came off as a lone wolf in his interview. But I'm sure the Gamemakers could find some way to smoke him out. Draw the three of us together.

One thing is for certain: I'll be facing off against Cato no matter what. He's wanted me dead for a long time: likely since I took out his supplies and guard, and definitely after I murdered his district partner.

Another possible plan is to hunt them down, one by one: take on Thresh first, on the offchance that his solitude has weakened his combat skills. Then, if I survive that fight, go for broke and challenge Cato.

Or a third option: wait for the arena to kill one of them, then hunt for the survivor.

No matter what the scenario, I feel I can only hope to win if I take on my opponents one at a time. Not both at once. But who knows if the Gamemakers will hear of that. A three-way Finale is less common than a two-way Finale, but it gets better ratings.

I wonder if I should just give up. Assume I'm not going to outlast one of them, never mind both of them in a three-way. Even if I dropped dead right now, I would earn a bronze medal for District 12. It's a tradition for the Top Three finishers, including the Victor, to be awarded medals: gold, silver and bronze. In that order. It's a tradition going back to ancient times and some event called the Olympics. Third place isn't bad. I'll have finished in the top eighth percentile of tributes. I'll be remembered in history, for making it to the final round. Not just a number, the way a tribute who died on the first day now is.

But then I remember that it is still anybody's Games. Including mine. There's no telling who will emerge the Victor amidst three muscular 16-year-olds. God knows Capitolites have bet on that sort of stuff. Or at least looked for indicators, like number of kills. I've had a hand in four deaths. And Cato likely murdered many at the Bloodbath. And who knows if Thresh killed anyone?

I see no easy path out. No plan in which every single factor allows me to control the Games, to end the Games my way. I'm just a tribute.

No, I will have to do what the Gamemakers want, and face Thresh and Cato at once. And I know where.

As landmarks go, the Cornucopia is the most consistent, from arena to arena. It's also the most important, and where a lot of battles, especially Final battles, usually happen. For this arena, the only other logical place to go might be the mountain, but who wants to climb that and then fight to the death? So the Cornucopia is where I go.

Cato is waiting for me, leaping down from the top of the horn with a broadsword in hand. "Let's get this over with, Twelve."

I raise an eyebrow, trying to look unimpressed. "Really? I thought we had a table for three."

As if on cue, Thresh comes bounding into the Meadow. He has wolf-like mutts on his tail, who fade away upon seeing us, the other tributes. They did their job and chased the black boy here. Cato was lying in wait, and I came of my own volition.

The three of us now circle each other. I have my spear and razor saw at the ready. If I am to die, I can only hope that Katniss will marry a nice man - likely Gale Hawthorne - and have his children, and maybe remember my sacrifice. _Katniss, I love you_.

I attack with surprise, hurling the spear at Cato. He sidesteps slightly too late, the spear's tip grazing his cheek. Thresh is so busy watching the spear's flight path that he doesn't bring up his scythe in time as I spin to my right, so that the razor saw cuts through his neck as though it is paper. Thresh goes down.

Having satisfactorily dispatched one enemy, I launch myself at Cato. But he is ready for me. We sprawl in the grass, kicking and biting and flailing and rolling. At one point we roll right over Thresh's dying body, and then back again. It's a miracle that neither of us lose grips on our blades.

Meanwhile, Thresh's body is rapidly convulsing. He is gargling blood, hands at his throat. His legs twitch dangerously. He's on his way out.

BOOM. Thresh's cannon sounds after several minutes of brawling with Cato. It is taking every trick I know just to stay alive. At one point, Cato pins me down by my limbs and straddles me, trying to bring his broadsword down on my chest. I may now have runner-up, but I fight with nothing left to lose. I want to be Victor! See Katniss again... have her finally notice me.

"I always wondered who my last opponent before Victory would be. Funny - I _never_ thought it would be you."

But it's this last insult that gives me the strength to wrench my razor saw arm free and slam the blade into Cato's chest, right over his heart.

Cato's eyes go big as saucers, and he collapses on top of me, convulsing a little like Thresh before he dies. The last cannon fires, and I hear Templesmith as I push Cato's corpse off of me:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Victor of the 74th Hunger Games: Peeta Mellark of District 12!"


	6. Chapter 6: The Victors' Code

**Chapter 6: The Victors' Code**

The first people I get to see after being extracted from the arena are Cassiope and Haymitch. Both of my mentors are really emotional as they embrace me, especially the former.

"Thanks, Cassiope. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Please, dear. We're family now. Call me Cass."

"Yeahhhhhhh, I'm not calling you that," I smile slowly.

At my final interview with Caesar Flickerman, I watch my 23 competitors die in an edited 3-hour marathon of apparently 18 days in the arena. Six of those deaths I had direct or indirect participation in.

"Peeta, now you have to tell us who your mystery girl is!" Caesar practically begs. But I laugh him off.

"Caesar, calm yourself! I can tell you one thing: she'd be very shy in a place like this. Even unimpressed. She values her privacy." I hope with this, I haven't said too much. President Snow places the Crown on my head, and my allies and I depart for home.

On the way, Haymitch turns to me. "OK, that's it, who is she? Or did you just make her up?"

His comment rubs me the wrong way, so I lose my temper a little and blurt out, "I did not make Katniss Everdeen up!"

Cassiope pounces immediately. "Katniss Everdeen? That's who you're sweet on?" I nod, afraid of what she might say. But what could she say? Cassiope and Haymitch both grew up Seam, same as Katniss. But instead, Cassiope chuckles. "Well, if that don't beat all? I had a raging crush on a Lark Everdeen when I was your age."

I stare. "Katniss's _grandfather_?" She nods.

"I wanted to marry him."

I am still in disbelief, that Cassiope could possibly have become Katniss's grandma. I lean forward eagerly. "So why didn't you? What happened?"

At this, Cassiope's face darkens. "The arena happened."

Haymitch nods understandingly. "Ah, yes. The Code."

I switch to him. "What's the Code?"

"Tell him," Cassiope jerks her head from Haymitch to me, and then leaves the dining car without another word. Haymitch swivels in his chair to face me.

"The Victors' Code: involve as few people in your life as possible."

I stare at him. "So... what...?"

"Here's what it means, boy. You don't fuck the Everdeen girl. No marriage. And absolutely no baby in a baby carriage. Got it?"

"So, you're saying I shouldn't have a life?"

"Peeta, wake up! As of right now, the Games are your life! You're a mentor now, every year from here on out. Of course, you'll be splitting some duties and time with me, but we'll get to that in a moment. You do the Victory Tours. Mentor the Games. Go to Capitol parties. And when you are not doing that, you work in the bakery, but don't involve your parents and brothers any more than you have to."

"But then... I have nothing. What if I have wants and dreams? Like being married? A father?"

"Once there was someone who I wanted, someone who would have meant going against the Victors' Code. Cassiope said something to me then. She said if you really love this girl, you should protect her. By not getting involved with her."

I must still look unconvinced, but instead all I say is, "Anything else? Is there a Rule # 2?"

"Yes," Haymitch replies grimly. "Stay alive."

We are now pulling into the District 12 station. Paparazzi from the Capitol are there, as well as the whole of my district, crowding the platform and even the rooftops beyond. I'm afraid the clustering will knock somebody onto the tracks. But we pull in with no accident. Effie gets off first, followed by Cassiope and Haymitch. Then, hands seize me and pull me into the crowd.

My family swamps me first, especially my brothers. Leven literally picks me up as if I weigh nothing. "You did it, kid! You won by a landslide."

And then suddenly, someone else barrels into me. I feel brown hair whip my face as the person wraps me in a hug and then I am staring into Seam gray eyes that I would know anywhere. The paparazzi buzz conspiratorially; Haymitch looks something between displeased and panicked. I ignore him as Katniss Everdeen begins to speak to me. She speaks in a rush, tripping over her own words. I don't mind, I know any kind of speaking isn't her strong suit.

"I just have to thank you. I never got to thank you at the Justice Building, but you're here now, so... thank you. For the bread. It saved our lives. I just... thank you."

I blink rapidly in astonishment. She remembers the bread I threw to her when we were children? "Well... you're welcome."

"And I just have to say, you're so kind and brave. When was the last time a decent person ever won the Games?" A compliment, I suppose, even if it's inadvertently insulting Cassiope and Haymitch, who are standing right there. Then, Katniss pecks my cheek and heads for home with her family, looking a little flustered. I stare after her, with a beaming smile. Haymitch now sidles up to me, looking confused.

"What the hell was that all about?"

I brush him aside, still grinning. "Tell you later."

* * *

I move into the Victors' Village. Cassiope and Haymitch are interesting neighbors. Cassiope is a dream, fixing me healthy meals in exchange for fresh bread from the bakery. Haymitch is the ruder of the two, drinking and belching. But he mostly lays about, which doesn't bother me.

Except when I find him passed out in his own vomit. Sometimes, it's Cassiope who finds him and her yell of "PEETA!" has me running from across the street. She's getting too old to lift him up by herself, so having me there is a nice reprieve. All the same, it takes both of us to get Haymitch into the tub.

When I'm at the bakery, Katniss visits even more often to trade her squirrels with my father. I always now add a special pastry in with the trade, or at least whenever I can. Katniss is a very proud person, and is usually very reluctant to accept anything she perceives as an act of charity. Nevertheless, she gradually opens up, and we become good friends.

When Victory Tour time comes about, Cassiope and Haymitch and I all go. Being from District 12 is helpful to the planners, as we go straight through from all the districts in reverse order to the Capitol. If the Victor were from any other district, they would go in reverse order starting from their district up to District 1, then back to any districts that come after their home, and then the big party in the Capitol. You would cross the country three times. We only have to do it once.

All the districts are fascinating, but I still feel emotional, even in front of the parents of tributes who I didn't kill. But the Victors from each district are very welcoming and sportsmanlike, making me feel comfortable.

The most fun I have is in District 7, which has produced some of the most Victors after the Career districts: seven in all. Six rambunctious men, the leader of whom is Blight Jordan, a slightly older peer of Haymitch. But it is the one woman who is the most fascinating.

Johanna Mason won just a few years before I did. I hang out with her at the big feast District Seven throws for me. She is surly and a little sarcastic, but radiates more confidence than any of her male counterparts.

"They're quite glad I won," she explains, even as we watch a drunken Blight swinging from a chandelier. "Say they need a woman to whip them into shape."

"Isn't that a little... sexist?" I raise an eyebrow.

Johanna stares at me for a moment almost in fascination, a smile pulling at the corners of her face. "A chivalrous one! Such a rare find these days," and she actually runs a hand down my sleeve flirtatiously. "I hope your girlfriend appreciates that about you."

I shrug sadly at the allusion to Katniss, whom reporters are still wondering about, ever since her hugging me at the train station. "She appreciates me as well as she's able," I say sadly. I feel like I should explain more, but I don't have to; Johanna has an eerily perceptive read on the situation.

"Friend-zoned, huh?"

"You could say that. She's not too open to romance or anything like that. But besides, I want to take it slow," I clarify eagerly.

"But where's the fun in that?" Johanna pouts. A new song starts to play. "Come on, let's dance."

I am taken aback, but pleased too, as Johanna drags me by the hand into the crowd and drapes her arms lazily around my neck. She guides my hands to her waist, allowing me to pull her close. We slow-dance, and as I gaze into Johanna's green eyes, take in her smirk at my discomfort, I begin to feel my heart beat faster in my chest. Johanna is like an extreme version of Katniss: brash, fiercely independent, feminist, take-no-prisoners.

And it excites me in a way only Katniss has heretofore been able to.

* * *

When I return from the Tour, I find that Katniss has suddenly become different around me - almost the way she was before I won, before we didn't even know each other. She's quieter in trades with my father; even more cold when we meet on occasion for lunch in the Hob. One day, I dare to confront her about it.

"When did you become so different around me?"

Her response turns the tables on me.

"When did _you_ become so different? You're less humble. Flirt with girls even though you know damn well you're stringing them along. You've gotten to big for your britches, Mr. Hunger Games Victor. And the Capitol eats it up! Why can't you just be the Peeta I know? Why can't you just... be yourself?"

I think now I understand what is bothering her. And I try to respond as honestly and as eagerly as I can. "Katniss, being myself isn't going to do anything. These people have expectations of me. That dashing guy you saw killing in the arena? They think... that's me... all the time! Same with Cassiope and Haymitch. All the other Victors call Cassiope 'The Little Hunter'... and sometimes, behind her back, 'Casserole.'" Katniss doesn't laugh at the joke. "And you know all about Haymitch."

Katniss frowns, biting her lip the way she does when figuring out a problem, or when she's really concerned about something. I wonder if she looked that way, that beautiful, when she was watching me fight. "But why can't you just tell them the truth? That you're humble and... good? And...?"

"And have them turn against me? Never!"

I don't think through how I say this. I don't reveal that I'm being fake and phony to protect her. But perhaps I should have told her my motivations, for Katniss now steps back as if struck. Her eyes fill with tears, and she pulls herself up to her full height. Her gaze is cold.

"Fine. Enjoy your new brown-nosed Capitol friends." And she turns tail and runs for home in the Seam, her brown whipping behind her gorgeously.

And I wonder if I just lost any chance with her. For good.


	7. Chapter 7: 75th Reaping

**Chapter 7: 75th Reaping**

Katniss and I don't speak for several weeks. Our lunches at the Hob are discontinued. And my father reports to me that Katniss has been making sure to trade with him whenever I am out of the bakery. I feel disturbed that Katniss would actively spy on me just to avoid seeing me later.

As winter melts into spring, I have other problems to worry about. The mandatory programming for the Third Quarter Quell Twist is announced. Yes, this year is the 75th anniversary of the Hunger Games. It's an exciting time to be a first-year mentor, especially from District 12, as the last Quell is the year our own Haymitch Abernathy won the Crown. Unfortunately, the old drunk will be getting all the airtime, as the only other district to bag a Quell win is District 8. That was almost fifty years ago, and their Victory record isn't much better than ours. Add to that the convenient fact that their Quell Victor, Indigo Weaver, is dead; I learned all this in a phone conversation with Effie.

The night of the mandatory programming, I decide against inviting my family over to my house to watch the broadcast, following the Victors' Code. However, in the very next thought, I consider breaking it when I am tempted to invite Katniss. But I decide against that, too; she'll be watching with her mother and sister.

President Snow takes the podium and summarizes the last two twists. For the First Quarter Quell, each district held a special election and voted on the tributes who would represent it. According to Effie, this was the perfect opportunity for the districts to get rid of their undesirables, troublemakers, which is what many of them did. Indigo Weaver was Reaped for being an orphan and a petty thief besides. For the Second Quarter Quell, each district was made to send twice as many tributes. I think briefly of Haymitch, in his house across the street. Then, opening an envelope, the President announces this year's twist:

"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the tributes will be Reaped from their existing pool of Victors."

I sit there like a mute until I get what it means. There is a fifty percent chance that I will be going back to the arena - with Cassiope! There is also a fifty percent chance that I will be mentoring both my mentors.

Either way, it's gonna be a long Games.

* * *

When I later stagger into the center of the Village, I find Cassiope and Haymitch having an argument. Over what, I don't know. There's only one thing left to decide, and it doesn't involve Cassiope. This is between Haymitch and me. About who will accompany her back in.

"Son? Son!" My Dad comes running up. I shoo him away.

"I'll stop by soon, Dad. See to my mom and brothers. I need a word with my... mentors."

Dad goes sadly away, but I am still approaching my two coaches when we turn as one to see Katniss slowing out of her run up the path.

"I heard."

"I'm sorry," I apologize blanketly "I..."

"Save it."

"I meant to call!" I blurt out desperately - forgetting for a moment how most Seam people don't own a phone.

Katniss holds up a hand, indicating she doesn't want to hear any more. "I'm sorry about the Quell. I'm going to train you - all of you," Katniss rounds her eyes back around to Cassiope and Haymitch.

I stare at her. "Really?"

She nods. "I want to help you."

I do it without thinking. Taking her in my arms, I cup my face in her hands and press my lips to hers in a deep kiss. She tastes like pine and Seam miner's soot. What a wonderful taste and smell. Katniss stiffens in my embrace and lets forth a strangled noise in the back of her throat, between a whimper and a squeak. Yet, she doesn't pull away. Her terrified eyes, like a prey wanting to run but unable to, are too busy focusing on how my lips dance across her frozen ones. How our mouths are pressed together. Is it just my imagination, or do I feel her bunching up my shirt fabric in her fists? At last, I release her, and we break apart.

I march past her, towards the woods, ignoring the fact that it's the middle of the night, and that Katniss suddenly, for a moment, can't seem to talk. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cassiope beaming, and Haymitch say to my love:

"Well, Sweetheart? Are you going to train us? Or are you going to leave your jaw on the floor?"

Katniss can only touch her kissed lips in wonder.

* * *

Over those last few weeks left available to us, Katniss trains us three for the Quell. Haymitch announces one day out-of-the-blue how Katniss should be Reaped. How she would make the perfect tribute. Katniss doesn't know what to make of this, so I have to reassure her that, coming from Haymitch, it's a compliment. That she would win the Games. And as such, take the compliment, clumsy as they are, for they're also rare.

I'm her best student, having won only last year. But Haymitch has to spend most of his time withdrawing from alcohol. And Cassiope, at 75, her age is beginning to show. The night before the Reaping, Katniss asks me as we go into my house:

"Have you decided who's going back in?"

I freeze; words between Haymitch and I have yet to be exchanged.

"It can only go two ways, Katniss. What happens happens."

I should not be talking so cavalierly about my own life, for Katniss is not amused. She places her hands on her hips and glowers at me for being so flippant. "Yes, the names of two men will be in that bowl. And you're one of them."

"Katniss..."

"I CAN'T WATCH YOU DIE!" And I am distressed as I watch Katniss begin to cry. "Do you understand me? Not again."

Taking her hand, I lead her around the kitchen island. "Yes, you can. The air is clear between us."

Blinking back tears, she shakes her head. "Not yet. We've never discussed that kiss." I knew she had to address it at some point. Well, better late than never. She drifts closer to me, actually smiling though the rest of her demeanor is painfully shy. "I know you have feelings for me. And I just wanted you to have something to remember me by. In case..."

And then, all at once, Katniss Everdeen is begging me to kiss her, which I do. She even lets me feel her up, petting her ass. What she is allowing is so uncharacteristic of her, I have to pull away.

"Katniss... don't do something you might regret out of pity."

She frowns, affronted, as she backs me into the fridge. "It's not pity. I don't fuck a guy out of pity. I fick him because I want to fuck him."

As she prompts me to take her by her waist and kiss her again, I wonder: has she done this before? Surely, she has taken many a guy out to the Slag Heap. Had Gale Hawthorne a time or two. She just doesn't advertise it.

Katniss now backs me up into my room. Throwing me down on the bed, she straddles me and strips me. Curling her fist around the base of my throbbing shaft, she takes me in her mouth. Her lips bob up and down my length, until I shoot up my juices into her throat like a geyser. She then crawls languidly across the bed to me, like a cat, and comes down on me. She rides me hard, before I flip us both over and pound into her. Amidst a steaming kiss, I cum inside her. She cums moments later, moaning incessantly.

Clutching our naked, sweaty bodies together, we fall asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

I feel Katniss stir against me with the first light of dawn. Her svelte body rises off of the bed we shared, then shrinks back, as if she's remembering what she's just done. I open my eyes.

"Was I better than Gale Hawthorne?"

She stares at me. "What are you talking about? You were my first time."

I match her with a look of disbelief. "You gave away your virginity? To me?"

She leans over me and whispers, "Your first time should be with someone you care for."

First of all, I have no idea how she knows I was a virgin too up until last night. Second of all, I note how she doesn't use the word 'love.' Does she think that this and 'care for' are two separate concepts and not one and the same? Possibly. Katniss is very sparing about who she truly loves.

Which reminds me...

"Shit! We forgot to use protection!"

Katniss looks panicked, but for my sake, pretends to be fatalistic. "If I conceive, I conceive. And Peeta... if I become pregnant... I would keep the baby."

I stare at her in awe. "You would?"

She bites her lip nervously. "I would consider it an honor." Done dressing, she turns to go, but I pull her back to me. Cupping her cheek in my hand, I kiss her lips goodbye, and she wraps a hand around my wrist to keep me in place before pulling away.

"All right. No more kissing. I have to go hunting." She leaps out my window. Moments later, the Peacekeepers arrive for me.

Cassiope, Haymitch and I are forced into line, by order of seniority, and flanked, before we are frog-marched to the Justice Building. But for right now, I feel as though I am walking on air. Katniss said having my child would be an honor. An _honor_ , she said!

I am the first to admit that we are a motley crew - a little old lady, a middle-aged drunk, and a teenager - as we arrive in the square. The Mayor breezes through his speech and reading our names, which now includes mine. The Reaping takes less than a minute for Effie. She fishes around for the one slip of paper in the first bowl who everyone knows already has one person's name on it.

"The female tribute from District 12... Cassiope Fletch." Poor gal. She would have celebrated the 60th anniversary of her win next year. Effie brushes her hand between the two slips for the men.

"The male tribute from District 12... Peeta Mellark."

"I volunteer as tribute!"

I have to grab Haymitch's arm as he crosses me. "I can't let you do that."

"You can't stop me, boy."

"Haymitch-"

"Let go." And he takes his place.

I can only confront him about it later, on the train. I can't believe he would do something so nobly stupid as to volunteer for me! Sure, I would have volunteered for him, but still, "What in the hell was that?"

"It's called saving your life, boy."

* * *

Things start to go really wrong after the chariot rides.

Immediately after, in fact. For who should share our elevator but Johanna Mason, the only female Victor from Seven. I feel bad for her, as she had six guys to choose from for a district partner; Blight Jordan got the short end of the stick.

By way of a greeting, she literally begins to strip before our very eyes. She turns her back towards me. "Unzip?"

"Yeah," I shrug casually, even though I'm dying inside. Even more so when she exposes her bare back. Cassiope, raised in a more modest generation, looks mortified; Haymitch is as pleased as someone my age for the free show. My libido? It's straining against my pants.

Especially when I get a look at Johanna in all her glory. The bush around her cunt is hairier than Katniss's, but just as enticing. She smirks at us all as the elevator dings for her floor. "Thanks. Let's do it again sometime."

"Thank you," Haymitch smiles.

Training is not much better. Over the next three days, whenever I come to pick up Cassiope and Haymitch, Johanna is at the Wrestling station, naked from head to foot, and oiling herself up for a match. I become paranoid in thinking she is either doing it to intimidate me, or flirt with me, or both. The overhead lights glisten over the oil on her bare breasts, which are a lot smaller than Katniss's. Even more terrifying is what I find myself wanting to do with those breasts. Like take one of them in my mouth.

Cassiope pulls and 8 in training, an excellent score for one her age. Haymitch manages a 9; maybe the Gamemakers were surprised at how sober he was and decided to reward him. But Johanna gets the highest score of 11. She even outclasses the Careers, who all score 10s.

At the interviews, there are the Careers and old throwbacks. But all the other Victors who have their wits about them criticize the Quell in their own clever way. Johanna makes her displeasure explicit, gallingly cussing the audience out. I join half the studio audience barely cheering her as her time expires. She's amazing! Cassiope goes for a young-whipper-snapper, when-I-was-your-age routine, commenting how the Capitol was still powerful, but not nearly as cruel as to send Victors to the arena, when she was a young girl. Haymitch merely reiterates what he apparently said at his last interview, twenty-five years before: how his odds will be roughly the same.

That night, I go to bed fitfully. Johanna haunts my dreams. As does Katniss, waiting for me to come home, thankfully safe and sound. As do my mentors, who likely will die. And it's up to me to get at least one of them out alive in an arena full of their old friends.

And I'll probably fail.


	8. Chapter 8: Her Last Round

**Chapter 8: Her Last Round**

It is Day 3 of the Quell. I recall how I had to say goodbye to my mentors on the very first day, scarcely 48 hours ago.

 ** _"I can't do it, Cass, I just can't do it!"_** _I sob like a little kid saying goodbye to his grandmother._

 ** _"Yes, you can, Peeta. Our future is the arena. It's time for you to go on without us. You're here now, and can carry on where Haymitch and I have failed."_**

 _I don't know how she possibly thinks she's failed, but I can't think of a rebuttal, so instead I whimper,_ _ **"Will I ever see you again?"**_

 ** _"What does your heart tell you?"_**

 _I think about how there may be a world outside Panem, outside of the Games, outside of the arena. Where a merciful God replaces a merciless President._ _ **"Yes... maybe."**_

 _Cassiope smiles._ _ **"Then we**_ _ **will**_ _ **see each other again. Goodbye, Peeta."**_

 _I actually hung Haymitch farewell, who tousles my hair as he and his former master board the hovercraft._

We are down to the Top Three, and they are both still alive. The one person standing in their way is a woman whom I feel attracted to. Johanna.

The arena is set in a desert landscape, so there is little in the way of water. This forces the three of them together. Cassiope goes down finally, due to her age being no match for Johanna's axes. But, Haymitch, the victor of the last Quell, puts up a fight. Eventually, though, with a final defiant roar, he too falls.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 75th Annual Hunger Games, or Third Quarter Quell: Johanna Mason of District 7!"

Johanna is smug after the Victory Crown is placed on her head. She doesn't even seem to mourn Blight, who died soon after the Bloodbath. As is custom, the other Victors have to approach the stage one by one, and shake the Victors' hand. Being from Twelve, I am last of all, so Johanna grabs my hand when I shake it and drags me into an elevator. I feel my heart begin to pound, but nothing happens. Instead, Johanna is still bragging.

"Killing your mentors was such an easy final battle, Lover Boy! I couldn't have planned it better if I tried."

I seethe. And then explode. "Johanna!"

"Yes?" She drawls blandly.

"You should be lucky to be alive. A Victor has to be humble. And right now, you aren't acting like a Victor!" Of course, these are merely my own views about how a Victor should act, as it would make sense to submit before the Capitol and thank them for the opportunity to live. But I sweep out of the elevator when the floor dings, leaving a stunned and snubbed Johanna in my wake.

* * *

I don't feel like participating in the Quell Victory Tour. But being now the only living Victor from District 12, I have to partake. Another tradition of Victors is to greet the new Victor in the Justice Building, as a sort of ambassador. And besides, I have to accept the bronze and silver medals for Cassiope and Haymitch.

So, here is where I find myself, next to Mayor Undersee, waiting for Johanna to be hustled back by security and into the building. As soon as she is inside, wearing a long golden maxi dress, the Peacekeepers leave to do crowd control outside, and the Mayor goes out to announce, leaving Johanna and I alone.

"How you holding up, Lover Boy?" Johanna coos.

I should still be angry with her. I should be enraged with her for robbing District 12 of an important win. But the dress swishing around her hips is so damn distracting...

Johanna seems to notice my fixation, for she becomes more explicit. "I'm here for the night. Whaddaya say we sneak off to the Victors' Village during the feast? We'll be... alone." Boldly, she takes me in her arms and even hitches her leg up around my waist. The hem rolls back along her creamy thigh, and I find myself wrapping my arms around her. The heat in the Justice Building has increased by several hundred degrees, it seems. Our lips are fluttering closer. My eyes droop shut. I want to kiss this woman so badly!

But then, I remember Katniss. Just as Johanna is about to swoop down and kiss me, I push her away.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Mason, but I have a girlfriend."

Johanna tries not to look hurt. "That's never stopped anyone before, Lover Boy." She draws out my nickname as she sweeps out the door, leaving me to stare after her before following.

* * *

When the Peacekeepers come to get me at next year's Reaping, that's when I feel truly all alone. Cassiope and Haymitch's names are still read, but moments of silence replace what was once applause.

Katniss waits with the 18-year-olds, her last Reaping, I pray she won't be picked; I've lost so much already.

"Katherine Thompson!"

It isn't her. Effie didn't say her name! I don't even hear the boys name as I bound off the stage, yelling for Effie to take my tributes to the train. I push through the crowd, reaching for her, as boys kneel all around me.

It is custom for boys to, having survived their last Reaping, get down on one knee and ask for their sweethearts' hands in marriage. I now seize Katniss's hand and drag her behind the Justice Building, away from the media.

"Peeta, what are you doing?" she hisses. But I take the ring out of my pocket that I have saved for years and drop to one knee.

"Katniss Everdeen, will you marry me?"

She stares in astonishment. "Are you mad?"

"Maybe. Madly in love with you! You are free of the Capitol. We are free! So, will you do me the honor of being my wife."

Silence. I look at the dirt, unable to bear seeing her as she answers. I feel her hand close mine around the ring, and I wait for her inevitable rejection. But then, she pulls me to my feet. I open my eyes.

Katniss is staring at me in wonder, as though she has never seen me before. She leans and tentatively, fearfully, presses her lips to mine. Her mouth is soft and compliant.

"OK," she whispers, murmurs quietly.

I grin wide enough to break my face. "Then you'll allow it?"

She nods. "I'll allow it." And my fiancé pecks my lips chastely.

* * *

Our toasting is held the week I return from the Games, which results in a predictable loss.

Katniss looks beautiful in her mother's bridal gown; I wear my father's tuxedo. Katniss kisses me after we burn the bread, a part of her hesitant. I know this is hard for her, going against what she had promised all her life for herself, and that she is scared. But more than anything, I want to have a partner in her.

After the reception in the Victors' Village, I head to the edge, near the Fallen Tributes' Graveyard. There are still two people who I need to see.

Shrines have been erected to our two dead Victors; I am sure one will be commissioned of me when I die. I only knew them scarcely a year, but I miss them so much! I wonder how my mentors would react to my breaking the Victors' Code. Cassiope would be glad that I got an Everdeen where she couldn't; Haymitch would grudgingly accept it.

"Hey, fellas. I'm sorry you couldn't be here today. It's my fault! And you did nothing wrong!"

"I told them it was my fault." I turn at the quiet voice to see my blushing bride. She must have known I would come here, and followed me to be there as support, but also to keep her distance and let me have time with my teachers.

And taking her hand, I lead my wife into my Victors' Village house, to consummate our marriage.


	9. Chapter 9: 100th Reaping

**Chapter 9: 100th Reaping**

As the President takes the podium, I clutch my beer bottle. Though I have never become a drinker in the way Haymitch was in my own middle age, I am going to need to alcohol to humb the pain. The pain of the Fourth Quarter Quell Twist. Have I really been doing this for 26 years?

It took a few years for Katniss to agree to have children. But I wanted them so badly. They're both grown now. Bannock is 20, and Sierra 19. Both past Reaping age, thank God.

The President lists the last three Quell twists. On the third twist, I hear Bannock call my name, but barely. "Dad?"

"Bannock, sssh. Your father's having a moment," Katniss hushes. And indeed I am. I think of Cassiope and Haymitch, dead in their graves. Graves already falling into structural decay; there is a big crack running down Haymitch's obelisk.

The President now reads the twist: "As it was the Capitol who realized wisdom before the Districts, two tributes will be Reaped for the children, and a further two for the adults."

I exit my mansion without a word, throwing up the little I've imbibed. My whole family could be Reaped for the arena, possibly losing two of them, per the rules. What is more, the Careers will be itching for a win this year, having lost the last three Quells to outlying Districts. But no matter who is picked, even if it is my own family, I am confident. District 12 has been known to show unusual balls in Quells, placing multiple medals in the Third, and Haymitch winning the Second against double the normal odds. I have no idea how we did the year Indigo Weaver won, in 25, but it's not important. This Quell is important, and we'll soon find out how well we do.

* * *

The Reaping is predictable, as it is my 42-year-old wife, my wife of nearly 24 years, who is Reaped, as one of the adult women. My son is spared, but I have been crippled by Snow enough.

Mentoring on the train and the chariot rides blur by in a fog for me. But there is something about entering the Training Center that makes you wake up. Get with it.

Johanna gives me a hug in the elevator and meets Katniss for the first time. My wife thanks Johanna for all the times she's helped me get through the Games. Their conversation is polite, cordial. By their body language, they don't seem to like each other. I'm not surprised. My best friend, along with the love of my life, are too alike in temperament.

Over the next few days, I help all four of my tributes, but it is my wife whom I focus on the most. And what she tells me concerns me. Over the next three days, Katniss reports how one of the men from District 2 has been actively intimidating her. But she goes about doing her best regardless, and it pays off: when the Training Scores are broadcast, she beats everyone, even the young man who has been intimidating her, with her score of 11.

When the interviews come around, I understand why the harassment occurred: the one young man is Cato Ludwig Jr., Cato's son. The son of the man I killed to step into history. Cato must have impregnated a girl right before he was Reaped, vowing to win and return. Only I got in the way. As such, Cato Jr. vows to kill the wife of his father's murderer. When it is her turn, Katniss tries to gain sympathy from sponsors by reminding them of our love. How she is married to Twelve's champion. But Cato Jr.'s arrogance, like his father before him, has sucked the air out of the studio.

I hold my bride a little extra tighter that night.

* * *

I wake the next morning filled with dread. I slowly rise from the bed Katniss and I will share for possibly the last time, and shower. Victor's wife versus his victim's son. And I have a feeling I know the outcome that the Gamemakers will want.

I kiss Katniss with tongue before she boards the hovercraft. We brazenly grope each other, as it might be the last time we get to hold each other like this. Upon taking off, I head for the Mentors' Bar.

The place is jostling and noisy. Par for the course. Johanna gives me a neck massage, which I slink back into eagerly.

"She'll be alright. Your wifey is tough."

The arena is in a jungle setting, with the Cornucopia in the middle of a miniature sea. Four tributes are in each wedge, making the spacing for all 48 of them a little crowded.

As soon as the gong goes off, I brace myself for what is about to happen. So, it maddens me to no end when Cato Jr. and Katniss actually ally. The son of my former rival says, "It's out of necessity," but I am suspicious. He is forsaking his whole Career pack to team up with the wife of the man who killed his father? He'll probably try to earn my Katniss's trust, and then kill her quickly.

18 die by the time the Bloodbath is over. Cato Jr. and Katniss disappear into the jungle trees, armed with bows and arrows and other weapons. That was all in the horn when they both swam for it and reached it first. No backpacks.

The pair bicker constantly. But it is great TV, for the Capitol cuts to it often for good comic entertainment. The middle-aged mother of two disparaging the strapping young 25-year-old son of a tribute.

Finally, Katniss and Cato Jr. learn about one another enough to work together. The hunt and fight better. Until one day, they plan a bold surprise attack on the people who, by all rights, should be Cato Jr.'s allies. The Careers.

My wife and her ally attack all 11 of them at the Cornucopia brazenly. Katniss's arrows seem to rain down into throats and spleens, while her partner's sword is a blur. At the end, outnumbered by over five to one, 10 Careers lie dead. The remainder, one of the boys from District 4, flees into the jungle.

Pulling off a major upset has earned each ally the other's trust. "You're amazing, Twelve, you know that?" Cato Jr. gawks.

Katniss just smirks as she cleans an arrow from one of her kills. "You're not so bad yourself, Daddy's boy," she teases.

They smile at one another. But with most of the Career pack out, this can't last forever. I begin to feel an odd sort of dread. When will they break this off?


	10. Chapter 10: Kiss Me Like You Kiss

**Chapter 10: Kiss Me Like You Kiss...**

There are only four tributes left: Cato Jr., the boy from 4, the girl from 6 and Katniss. They've been in the arena for a couple of weeks. Sponsor prices have spiked to more than most of the mentors can afford. I have to get Katniss valuable tools if she is to win and I can see her again.

It's the middle of the afternoon of whatever numbered day it is, when Johanna suddenly drags me into the back storage room.

"I have some money that I can use to help Katniss," she tells me eagerly.

"Jo, that's wonderful!" I tell her. But then, Johanna's hand suddenly creeps up my thigh.

"Of course, there has to be a small... concession on your part," she purrs. She brings her face real close to mine and whispers, "Kiss me."

" _What_?" I choke out.

"Kiss me you like you kiss _her_ ," Johanna gives me a very pointed look.

I hesitate. For years, Johanna has flirted with me, even when I was married. During the Games, it was a foreplay that did not mean anything serious (most of the times; sometimes, Johanna could be deadly serious in her overtures). And almost always, these entreaties occurred when all of our tributes were dead, when we were bored and there was no longer anything to do. All of these offers, I brushed aside, because I had a wife to go home to.

But this time, the offer is serious, one of my tributes is still alive, and she happens to be my wife. Whom I desperately want to see again. Johanna has no Games stake in this; all of her tributes are dead.

So, I take her in my arms. Cupping her face in my palms, I pretend this is my wife as I kiss her lips deeply. She jolts, like given an electric shock, before moaning as we finally, after years of foreplay, physically join in this way. It is true magic.

Johanna hitches her leg around my waist and throws her arms around my neck. She wants this.

I palm her small breasts, finally take one in my mouth the way I have wanted to for decades, suckling it. I plant kisses deeper into her lips, before pressing them into her face, her jawline. Johanna closes her eyes in abject pleasure. Pretty soon, we are tearing at each other's clothes. My engorged penis sheathes itself into her vagina. And I don't think about who I am fucking, as we bounce against each other and sweat and moan.

* * *

 **Third Person POV**

Meanwhile, Cato Jr. is backing Katniss into a literal corner. Into a tree, to be more precise. But he is not doing so to break of their alliance. To kill her. He wants something more than the pleasure of taking life.

"Please stop," Katniss whispers, as she feels her body bump into the bark and trap her. "This isn't a game."

"Last time I checked, we were in a giant Game, sweetheart. But I never consider this particular game one." Cato Jr. steps closer. The spitting image of his father, he is handsome but deadly.

Katniss actually begins to cry as she shakes her head violently. "Don't, please. I'm a married woman."

"Only on a goddamn piece of paper!" And Cato Jr. knocks her bow aside, raises her arms over her head and pins her there, as he swoops in and kisses Katniss full on the mouth. For even though she is 42 and middle-aged, 17 years his senior, she is still beautiful.

Katniss jumps at his touch, as his mouth dances across her, and she prays her husband does not see, even though he probably is. She stands stock still, not wanting to be unfaithful, not wanting to participate in her own seduction...

But Cato Jr.'s hands are so strong, and his lips taste so good... And she might die without seeing her beloved Peeta again...

So she gives in.

"Hmmm..." She drapes her arms around Cato Jr.s neck and kisses him back. The young Career divests the huntress beauty of her clothes and lays her back in the jungle leaves. He fucks her, their bodies collide and unify. Katniss moans incessantly at being taken by another man, a man who is not her husband. She loves the feel of his hands, his mouth, on her breasts. How Cato Jr. eats out her vagina until she cums under the jungle trees, again and again.

Later, the girl from 6 falls in combat. And together, Katniss and Cato Jr. kill the boy from 4.

So it comes as a devastating shock, when Cato Jr. turns against the woman he seduced and kills her, becoming the Victor.


	11. Chapter 11: It's Never Too Late

**Chapter 11: It's Never Too Late**

The train whistle is still wailing in the distance when Johanna Mason sweeps into my mansion in Victors' Village without knocking. The walk from the station to the Village isn't very far. In a dress, she is still as beautiful as ever, at 48 years old. Me? At only 44 years old, I look like shit.

I only heard of Katniss's infidelity in the arena when I returned from the Quell. Caesar probably didn't show it in the recap at Cato Jr.'s interview because it was X-rated. That the son of the man I killed not only won, but fucked my wife to become Victor makes me resent him even more. Oh, and he killed her. I only accept Katniss's silver medal half-heartedly, but display it with sad pride, right beside our wedding photos.

It is now the Victory Tour for the 102nd Hunger Games. The Victor is a girl from District 7 and if anyone deserves it, it's Jo. This is her first successful tribute in 30 years; the last one, Pliny Aruasio, won her first year as a mentor.

"I thought I might visit you before we meet up at the Justice Building," she smiles.

I give her a big kiss in greeting, boldly groping her ass while I do so. Johanna indulges me, even hooking her leg to my waist. Interestingly, Johanna is the most tame when she is in the arms of a man and being loved up.

"Well, good morning to you too, Lover Boy," she chuckles when we break apart. After Katniss died, Johanna has been my saving grace.

I suddenly hear the door opening, and Johanna and I jump apart. Footsteps in the foyer, and then my daughter, Sierra, emerges into the kitchen. She frowns when she sees a woman with me. "Who the hell are you?"

"Sierra, this is Johanna Mason, my friend and colleague from District 7," I explain.

Sierra doesn't believe the friend bit for a moment. I can tell just by looking at her. Instead, she becomes protective of me by being passive aggressive. "Well, Johanna, I guess we are all sisters under the skin."

She gets me right in the wrong place. I blow up. "Sierra!"

"Yes?"

"This fine lady is NOT your sister. This fine lady has just consented to give me her hand in marriage."

Sierra jumps up from the couch as if burned, not noticing the startled look Johanna gives to me. " _Marriage_?!"

"Yes. We marry in... six months," I pull out of my butt.

" _Six months_?!" my daughter gawks.

"Yes. So, a little respect for your future stepmother, if you please."

"Yeah... sure..." Sierra mumbles, and all but runs from the house, no doubt to squeal to her brother Bannock at the bakery.

Johanna and I burst out laughing. "Peeta, you were marvelous!" Johanna beams.

"Well, what else could I do?" I smile. Then I sigh. "But I'm going to hear about this later, if she's anything like her mother. Katniss hated being shown up in an argument; she'd get all flustered. And why did I say six months? Why didn't I say six years? That would mean a wedding during the Games, and this way she will find out the truth so quickly! Unless..."

Johanna's eyes narrow. "Unless..."

"We actually do get married," I float.

Johanna's green eyes stare in astonishment. "You were _serious_?"

"It was in my mind," I shrug sheepishly. "So... if you would consider... marriage?" I take her hand.

Johanna does not look her confident self anymore. Indeed, she looks as though she has just seen the ghosts of her tributes. All the same, she replies, "I would consider it," but the admission seems to be almost wrenched from her throat. "But it is foolish! A waste of money! And we would never be able to live or even sleep together; the Capitol would never allow it unless it was at the Games or on a Victory Tour like this!"

"And live alone? How many meals have you eaten alone?" I press her. "A thousand? 5,000?"

Johanna sighs. "20,000."

"Then be sensible! Victors come and Victors go, same as any tributes! How much longer can we wait?"

Johanna stares at me seriously. "I won't be able to have children," she warns. "I'm too old. We both are."

"Oh, I don't care about that," I smile. "I have children. Both grown and with families of their own."

Johanna stares. "Sierra's _married_?"

"You know the son of the cowherd?" She shakes her head. "No, of course you don't. Anyway, he's Seam. And Sierra is a quarter Seam on her mother's side, and I've never cared about class lines like that. Her grandmother, on the other hand..." I shudder to think what my deceased mother would have thought of Sierra's marriage.

Johanna smirks. "Charming." Whether this is at my mother or daughter's expense, I cannot say. She kisses me one last time. "See you at the Justice Building."

* * *

Six months later, at the start of the 103rd Games, I enter my chambers on Floor 12 of the Training Center to find Johanna in a strapless white dress. She smirks at my stare of disbelief.

"Well, Lover Boy? Get a tuxedo on!"

I quickly do so, and run to fetch a piece of bread from the dining room. I show Johanna how to toast it over the fire, and explain the tradition of the toasting. She smiles.

"How quaint. In District 7, the newlyweds have to chop down a sapling and jump over it."

We share the bread. Then, I take Johanna in my arms. She seems tense for a moment, then she grabs my face and smashes her lips to mine in a kiss. Like Katniss before her, it is a kiss full of fear. Fear of being tied down and no longer independent. But it is also a kiss full of promise. A kiss full of apology. And a kiss full of deep, deep love.

Johanna climbs me like a tree and backs me up into my bed, so that she clambers on top of me and straddles my waist. "I'm sleeping with my husband tonight," she hisses. Then, she de-robes herself and bounces up and down on my member until each of us cums against the other.

We sleep together as man and wife.


	12. Chapter 12: 125th Reaping

**Chapter 12: 125th Reaping**

I lean forward in my easy chair as the President begins announcing this year's Quell twist. My God, have I really been alive for three of these? 51 years mentoring and not a single Victor to show for it. Oh, I've had a few get close, only to get screwed over in the end. A few have even placed with second and third-place medals. But, I am still all alone as the President announces:

"On the 125th anniversary, as it was the District's politicians who incited rebellion, the District Mayors and their spouses shall be Reaped."

What an awful twist. Almost as bad as having former Victors go back in. The Reapings will be quick this year. And I am sure it will placate the lower classes from rebelling, as they will love watching their Capitol-bred leaders go to their deaths.

The phone rings and I pick up. "Peeta Mellark."

The voice of my second wife comes over the other end. "Hey, Lover Boy, how are you feeling?"

"Hey, baby. Not so good. This is going to be one awful Quell."

"I've seen worse. How do you think your Mayor and his wife will hold up?"

"Too soon to tell. I'll know more once I get on the train."

"I wish I could sleep with you tonight. I'm tired of this deception. I don't care if they know we're married!"

"Me too, baby. But we'll sleep and fuck all through the Games. And hope one of us wins so we get a hit of each other on a Victory Tour." Though she is more likely to win than I am, but I don't voice this thought aloud.

"I'm going to bed. I love you."

"Love you too. Bye, Jo-Jo." I end with my affectionate nickname for her as I hang up.

* * *

The Reaping this year is as brief as the one from 50 years ago. The Undersees from my day are no longer in power, but Madge has been happily married to Gale Hawthorne - the man I thought Katniss might marry if I died in the arena - for many years. Mayor Zebulon squeaks his way through the Dark Days speech, and the naming of our three Victors.

Effie Trinket has retired by now. I visit her whenever I go to the Capitol. She is old and frail, but still feisty. Johanna likes her; my former escort, along with my two children, are the only people who know our secret. My new escort is a bit of a crank; I hardly remember her name as she begins the whisking of the near-empty Reaping bowls.

"Katarina Zebulon!" The Mayor's wife, already onstage, shakily takes her place.

"Batholomew Zebulon!" Our Mayor, white as a sheet, joins his wife.

We are hustled to the train without even the usual visits (but who would want to visit the Mayor anyway? Unless, it is for the purpose of assassination; District 12's leaders have always been despised). The train pulls away.

* * *

The way I work is that I let the tributes come to me. I can't help them unless they help themselves. But many hours have passed and still not a word from the Mayor or his wife. Finally, I feel I have to break the ice.

"What do you want to know first?"

Mayor Zebulon looks at me with a stare of pure contempt. "How can you possibly help us? You won half a century ago, and I don't see any other living Victors with you. My wife and I know exactly how we'll be leaving the arena!" And he storms off, his wife dithering in his wake. I sigh. It's going to be a long Quell.

The chariot rides go by in a blur. Soon after the speech by the President is over, I feel a hand grasp mine and haul me into an elevator of the Training Center. As soon as the doors close and we are for certain alone, Johanna slides into my arms.

She's aged well, for someone who is 71. And I'm not far behind, at 67. We kiss and grope and make out for awhile.

"I missed you," Johanna purrs, as she nibbles on my earlobe. I grind into her center with a growl. I'm a horny old fellow. "How are your tributes?"

"Awful. They've given up already. Yours?"

"The wife is a nervous wreck. But Mayor Isakson may have it in him." The floor dings to signal Floor 7, her stop. "Come on. Let's go to bed. My tributes won't bother us. Magnolia is mentoring them; I'm just here to supervise. And to be with my husband."

Training and interviews go by just as fast. Mayor Zebulon and his wife both pull 7s for their Training Scores. Mediocre. I was actually expecting much worse for folks who don't even want to try to live. Like 5s. Or even 0s. Mayor Isakson, Johanna's male tribute, predictably does better, with a score of 9.

I scarcely remember the interviews with an aging Caesar Flickerman. Although, he has defiantly kept up his heavy makeup to hide this.

The night before the Games, I slip down to Johanna's chambers, and we sleep together as husband and wife for the first time in almost a year.

* * *

The arena is a frozen tundra. I recall that this was the setting for Cassiope's arena, over a century before.

Batholomew and Katarina Zebulon are some of the first to die in the Bloodbath. The Mayor from District 10 ends up winning the whole thing.


	13. Chapter 13: 150th Reaping

**Chapter 13: 150th Reaping**

My eyes are bleary as Bannock and Sierra support me on either side. My eyes are glued to the TV, as the President makes the announcement for the (already?) Six Quarter Quell's Twist: "On the 150th anniversary, as future generations were destroyed by Rebellion, only 5 to 11 olds will be Reaped."

Almost as soon as the programming's over, my telephone rings, and I hear the croaking voice of my wife of 47 years.

"Worst. Quell. Ever." Johanna has her opinions, and she will make them known, whether you want to hear them or not. And she has some authority on the situation, having won a Quell herself. I feel lucky to be married to her. "Children before Reaping age competing? Let's hope it's short."

"I doubt that, Jo-Jo," I tell her. "You really think a 5-year-old is going to know how to pick up a weapon, much less use it? It will take so long because the tributes won't know how to fight. And some won't want to."

"I'll see you at the Capitol. I love you," she murmurs. She hangs up.

"Was that Johanna, Dad?" Sierra rubs my arm sympathetically.

I nod. "I'll see her for the Quell when I get there. Help me to bed, sweetheart."

* * *

After 76 years, I am still the only living Victor from District 12. People are starting to view me as a useless embarrassment. I wonder if this is how Cassiope felt, as she waited almost three and a half decades to produce a successor.

I have to produce one myself. Have to. At 92 years old, I'm not sure how long I'll live; my wife is 96 years old herself. With our marriage, we've created a friendly rivalry between Districts 7 and 12 that only we know about.

"Rosemary Thyme!" A girl of 11 takes the stage.

"Jonathan Darconic!" A boy just 5 years old needs the support of his mother to even take the stage. I want to groan, but I can't. Not here. I'll groan on the train.

The train ride is fairly quiet. I feel the babysitting part of my task more than I usually do. Jonathan leaves after dinner without another word, but Rosemary is more polite. She and I talk, and I am reminded of the lively conversations I would have with my daughter Sierra when she was a little girl. Maybe this Rosemary can win, even if the Quell is JV. District 12 has done quite well in Quells; with the exception of the Zebulons in the last one.

After the chariot rides, I meet up with Johanna in the elevators. We say nothing to one another because both sets of our tributes are with us, but as soon as I send Jonathan and Rosemary off to bed, I go down to my wife's quarters on the seventh floor and lie with her. There isn't much sex anymore, due to our age, but still tender caresses and kisses. Johanna refers to me as "my love" a lot. And there is plenty of pillow talk.

Training and interviews go by in a blur. Rosemary is one of the most dynamic children there; she earns a 10 in training, right up with the Careers. But I have to scoff at it. On what basis are the Gamemakers grading these tributes? Again, they're just children! At the interviews, Caesar tries his best with them, but I think he feels less like a game show host and more like an elementary school teacher. Most of the tributes skew towards the younger ages; both of Johanna's tributes are scared little seven-year-olds. How appropriate, since they are from District 7.

* * *

The arena takes place in a volcanic landscape. Right away, I know this Quell is going to be the shortest of all six Quells, if not the shortest of all Games. One boy steps off his pedestal like an idiot and blows himself up, but he takes six tributes with him before the Gamemakers can correct their mistake - all of them Careers.

The remainder run for the Cornucopia and pile of weapons once the gong goes off, but only pick them up. They mostly seem confused, as if unsure what to do with them. Did they just sit around for three days in training and do nothing?

Many hours later, while we Victors wait for something, anything to happen, the Gamemakers have had enough. The Capitol audience is literally booing this Quell twist; it is deeply unpopular. So the Gamemakers decide to end it quickly and on their own terms.

Fire rains down from the heavens. The children scream and try to dodge, but are mostly incinerated. Poor Jonathan is killed almost instantly. At last, only two children are left, and with a start I realize one of them is mine, Rosemary. The other is Johanna's boy. My wife and I look at each other. Our districts have never competed in a Top Two before, not since before we were married, but there is a first time for everything. At last, a fireball burns the District 7 boy, right in front of my tribute. Claudius Templesmith announces blandly, as I stare in shock:

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winner of the 150th Annual Hunger Games: Rosemary Thyme of District 12!"

I did it. I finally produced a Victor: a hollow victory, perhaps, but a victory nonetheless.

The night that Rosemary conducts her final interview and the Victory Crown is placed on her head, I sleep with my wife. I leave for District 12 tomorrow, with a successor. A girl to mentor tributes into perpetuity.

Thank God. I am so... tired...

I hold Johanna close as I pass into a deeper unconsciousness than I have ever experienced in sleep.

* * *

 **Third Person POV**

An Avox is the one who finds them: the Victor from District 12, and a Victor from District 7 asleep in her bed. Dead in her bed, holding each other the way husbands and wives would.

The rumor mills, about the nature of their relationship, fly, as Rosemary Thyme, District 12's fourth and new Victor, goes home. Without even having thanked her mentor for saving her life. But she is here now, and will carry on where Peeta Mellark failed. Just as he carried on where Cassiope Fletch and Haymitch Abernathy failed. And Johanna Mason will have plenty of predecessors and successors to replace her...

So is the love story between two Victors. Between a baker's son and a lumberjack's daughter.


End file.
